Advanced Potion Making
by Meoclew
Summary: Snape has returned to Hogwarts, not only miraculously alive but frustratingly unchanged. How can Hermione hope to fulfill her academic goals when forced to work with such an uncooperative man? Ignores epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

**(Disclaimer: Psh. ****_I wish _****this stuff belonged to me. Too bad.)**

**(Author's Note: Feel free to leave all possible feedback. I will probably need frequent comments to stay motivated to update in a timely fashion. This is my first fanfic, so constructive criticism is welcome too.)**

**Chapter 1**

The huge doors parted, causing a small breeze to brush through the large group of students waiting to pass through them. Hermione glanced around at the crowd, taking in the pained expressions of those older students from her year who, like her, had returned to finish their formal education. They were likely now remembering the events that had taken place the last time they were in this castle. Ginny Weasley, red hair glowing in the torchlight, gave her a comforting smile and her hand a slight squeeze before she turned back to the open doorway and gasped.

Hermione turned toward the great hall and stopped, shocked. Everything looked exactly as it had the very first time she had ever entered it. All signs of battle had been completely erased, as if it had never happened. She followed the crowd slowly filtering into the room in awe. Ginny laughed, delighted.

"They must have been working around the clock!" Ginny exclaimed in awe. "It's as good as new!"

"Indeed," Hermione agreed, still distracted by the unsettling sense of deja vu that the room inspired.

She stared hard at the rough stone beneath her feet, willing it to admit to it's previous hardships. The stone sat stubbornly, willfully disregarding her attempts to reconcile it with her recent memories. Squinting for a closer look, she finally noticed that the section of stone under her feet was just a few shades lighter than the section a few feet away from her. It looked... cleaner. Newer.

Now that she knew what she was looking for, she glanced around the spacious room again. Seemingly random sections of the floor and lower walls were lighter, the doors had a fresh polished look to them, the Ravenclaw table, while built identically to the others, looked brand new, while many of the legs of the Gryffindor table were still blackened by magic or fire, or both. Hermione gently scraped a black, wooden leg with the edge of her foot as she took her seat next to Ginny at the table, both grateful and saddened by this small proof of past events. Her eyes had just settled on the figure of Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, when the murmur of the crowd was briefly broken by the deep crack of the doors being opened once again.

In the doorway stood a sea of fresh faces. Varying in expression from happily excited, to nearly ill with nervousness, the first years took in the sight of the Great Hall for the very first time.

"They never saw what it was like last year, after, you know... everything that happened," Hermione pointed out to Ginny, ignoring the painful twinge inside of her at the realization. "They don't even know how incredible this is."

But the first years stood in awed silence all the same. Argus filch, Hogwarts' scowling caretaker, made his way from the fringes of the room carrying a simple, three-legged stool in the center of the room. Immediately following, the crowd's collective eye was drawn to the four-legged Firenze, who marched under the floating candles and the starry ceiling to the wooden stool while carrying respectfully in his hands the famous, tattered Sorting Hat.

_I wonder if any of them has seen a real centaur before, _Hermione thought as she allowed herself a brief moment of amusement at their shocked stares and hand-covered whispers. She chuckled at a tiny witch who was openly pointing, arm raised toward the exotic Divination Professor. Suddenly, she noticed that the small girl was not pointing directly at the Centaur, but past him toward the head table. Hermione followed her gaze, and her body jerked violently in shock as her sight caught on a pair of angry, coal-black eyes.

Her breath stopped as he stared her down haughtily, glaring for several long moments. He finally turned his unpleasant gaze back to the Headmistress when Hermione didn't politely avert her eyes and simply sat, wide-eyed and openmouthed.

It honestly should not have been such a surprise to see him there, she mused. Everyone had been reading for months about his miraculous recovery, about the young medic who had found himself quite forcefully directed to the boathouse by none other than Fawkes the phoenix. It was quite apparent to everyone that the tears of the magical bird were the only reason the professor, lying in a pool of his own blood, had still been alive when the St. Mungo's employee found him.

Before the man had even woken from his brief coma though, Harry had told all the major newspapers about his vital role as double agent for the past seventeen years. Told them of the hated hero they had been living in fear of all this time. No one would have believed it if the source had been any other than The Boy Who Lived, or if he had asserted any less fervently the truth of the matter.

"The Man Who Lived" a few daring tabloids named him. Despite his refusal to participate in any interviews, or offer up any comment whatsoever, the fire of his fame could be outshone only by Harry Potter himself. The "Daring Double Agent" was even a bigger story than her own romantic rise and fall with Ron.

The nature of his feelings for a certain dead woman, however, Harry respectfully kept between himself, Ron and Hermione.

Snape.

_Professor Snape, _ she automatically corrected herself.

Severus Snape.

"What is he doing here?"Ginny spoke up, apparently having just noticed him as well. "I thought teaching was just a cover. I mean, it's a pretty good bet that he didn't come back for the sheer love of molding young minds."

Hermione stayed silent, scanning his dark frame for any hint of change, as she had previously scanned the Great Hall. Unlike Hogwarts however, his countenance refused to yield. He sat darkly, glaring at the Sorting Hat intensely enough to burn a hole in it. He showed no sign of the heroism and depth that he had revealed to Harry in what he thought would be his final moments. A possible explanation for his severe lack of transformation eluded her.

She sat dumbly, still staring rudely, when a loud cry of "_Slytherin!"_ interrupted her thoughts. She noticed that she had missed the Sorting Hat's opening song, and it looked as though she had missed the first half of the sorting as well.

"Nelly Normik!" Firenze called out, and a portly young girl with a mess of dirty blonde hair nervously stepped up to the Hat. Ginny leaned toward her conspiratorially.

"I heard that Fawkes refused to leave Snape's room at St. Mungo's until he woke up," she said eagerly. "And that his presence there was another sign of Hogwarts' acceptance of Snape as the Headmaster."

That part surprised Hermione.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

Ginny looked at her reprovingly. "Don't you remember when that Umbridge woman declared herself Headmistress?" she prompted. "She couldn't gain access to the Headmaster's office. Like the castle itself wouldn't acknowledge her as Headmistress."

"But when Snape was acting as Headmaster he had full access," Hermione filled in. "The castle must have known what he was really trying to do."

"Exactly," Ginny continued, "And technically, Snape was still Headmaster until the Ministry came in and declared McGonagall as acting Headmistress."

Hermione mulled over the new information through the remainder of the sorting. She only managed to push it from her mind once everyone was seated and the opening feast appeared on the table in front of them. She and Ginny temporarily forgot themselves in the variety of delectable culinary wonders at their table.

Hermione stuffed herself on pumpkin juice and samplings of each dish within arm's reach until she felt fit to burst. She leaned back on the bench and laughed at Ginny's sarcastic comments on Filch, finally feeling some of the tension of the day leaving her, but trying, unsuccessfully, to keep her eyes from wandering back to the dark figure at the head table.

After dessert had been consumed, and Professor McGonagall's closing remarks had been made, the students began stretching their over-filled bodies and slowly pushing their ways back to their dorm rooms. As Hermione stood by the doorway, waiting for the rest of the Gryffindors to gather, she heard a thick scottish accent through the crowd.

"Miss Granger!"

"Professor McGonagall!" she called in surprise.

"Please accompany me to my office," the professor said, then turned and strode out into the hallway.

Hermione followed the aging witch through the castle, bewildered. She wondered what she could have done to get into trouble already. During previous years, it had not been entirely unheard of for her small group of friends to be in trouble this early in the term, but without Harry and Ron here this year, she was hard pressed to imagine what she might have done to illicit the attention.

McGonagall approached the stone gargoyle guarding the stairs to her office.

"Domestica Felines." The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the long spiral staircase. Hermione walked quietly into the familiar office as McGonagall seated herself behind the spacious desk. Hermione took in the various mystical items filling the room. She noticed the stone pensieve that Harry had told her so much about. Her eyes were drawn up to the colorful portrait of Albus Dumbledore. He smiled down at her, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses, and winked.

Professor McGonagall relaxed into her chair, finally releasing the stern expression from her face and smiling amiably at Hermione.

"Thank you for coming in, Miss Granger. I know you have a great deal of settling in to do tonight."

"Of course Professor," Hermione answered. "It's no trouble."

"I wanted to give you a chance to ask me why you were not made Head Girl this year," McGonagall said, businesslike.

Hermione sat back, surprised but relieved that she wasn't here to be chastised. "There's really no need, Professor, I didn't expect..."

"Of course you did, girl," McGonagall interrupted, "We all expected it. I want to be sure that you know that you weren't overlooked for any lack of qualifications."

Hermione flushed. She had, in fact, been expecting to be Head Girl, and was surprised when she hadn't received the request with this year's supply list. She had been almost as surprised when Ginny, grinning with excitement, ran down the stairs of the burrow with her Head Girl badge in hand.

"You've been through a great deal this past year, my dear. More than most. I imagine it's been rather difficult to get back to a regular life, after everything that has happened. I didn't feel that the added pressures of Head Girl would be advantageous for you."

_But it would be for Ginny? _Hermione thought, then scolded herself for the hint of jealousy she sensed in herself. She truly was happy that Ginny had been chosen for the position. She was going to be an excellent Head Girl.

"I must admit though, that concern for your emotional recovery was not my only motivation in making this decision," McGonagall continued. "May I ask if you have chosen a career path to pursue after you graduate?"

"Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Hermione answered decidedly.

McGonagall chuckled. "Still going to free the House Elves then, are we?"

Hermione subconsciously lifted her chin with just a hint of defiance.

"Well, that is a worthy cause. You are signed up then, for Care of Magical Creatures and

Wizarding Governments?" the professor asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered, "in addition to Muggle Studies and Arithmancy."

"Good. I will be straight with you Miss Granger," Mcgonagall said, looking her in the eye. "I have no doubts that you will make a significant contribution in Control of Magical Creatures. You will do a great deal of good there. But I ask you, is that _all _ you want to do?"

Hermione frowned, confused.

McGonagall leaned forward and placed a small item on the desk in front of Hermione. It was a time turner.

"I believe that your potential far exceeds your current ambitions," McGonagall said seriously. "You have access to the best education that the wizarding world can offer. I suggest you take advantage of that fact."

"But-" Hermione began, distractedly taking the familiar item in her hand "-none of the other classes this term relate to my chosen career."

"Precisely," McGonagall said. "In this school, we have staff of highly qualified experts in almost every area of study. Can you truly tell me, Miss Granger, that the only thing you are interested in learning this year is politics?"

Hermione shook her head, eyes downcast. She looked again at the hourglass suspended in the circular bands of gold. She held the time turner hesitantly, as if afraid that the small artifact may suddenly force it's own use on her.

_Highly qualified experts... _That part was certainly true. She could probably be tutored in just about any subject she'd want. Perhaps she could even gain an apprenticeship. The sheer potential for learning promised by the item in her hand was immensely tempting. She could finally learn... everything.

That was, if one particular "highly qualified expert" agreed to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"I'm sorry Miss Granger, but I just can't let you pass unless you know the password," the fat lady at the entrance of Gryffindor Tower said, sounding genuinely apologetic.

"I already told you!" Hermione huffed in frustration. "I never got the password because I was meeting with the Headmistress when the Gryffindors were escorted here after dinner!"

She'd just spent the last twenty minutes standing in front of the fat lady's portrait, alternately pleading, arguing and attempting to guess the current password to gain entrance, all to no avail. At this point, her only option may be to return in defeat to the Headmistresses office and ask for the password. It was not exactly the start she had been hoping for in her grand return to Hogwarts.

Taking a calming breath, she slowly unclenched her hands from her school robes and turned back in the direction she had come from. If she had to ask the Headmistresses help in getting into her own dorm room, she could at least do it with some dignity. Now, her only concern was making certain not to run into any staff on the way.

"Miss Granger."

Her stomach dropped. She gave herself a full, tense second before turning guiltily to face the source of the voice.

Severus Snape stood in the darkened hallway behind her, wrapped in cloak and shadow as though the night itself carried him there. He hadn't made a sound as he approached. She silently cursed her ill luck.

"Might I inquire as to your purpose in roaming about at this hour?"

She felt herself cower for a tense moment, but her Gryffindor pride soon set in. She straightened her back and met his eyes.

"I was detained in a meeting with the Headmistress and therefore unable to receive the current password. Perhaps you would be willing to assist me in entering the tower."

Her circumstances were not her fault, and he would see that. After all, this was the man who had turned the tide of the war, sacrificed himself for the cause. Now that he had no reason to maintain his hardened persona, he would be free to treat his students with fairness.

"I have no time to compensate for the foolishness of young witches."

Or not.

She flushed, her temper beginning to rise.

"I need only a single word to be in my rooms and thus cease wasting your precious time, _sir."_

He took a single disdainful step toward her, towering across the empty space between them.

"Do not think for a moment that I will be willing to disregard your impertinence, Miss Granger. You may be a princess here, but it will gain you no leeway with me."

He closed the distance and took hold of her arm, pulling her toward the portrait of the fat lady.

"You would have lost a great deal of points tonight if your house had yet managed to acquire any. _Volatus_."

The fat lady swung forward, exposing the wide, round entrance and the fiery redhead standing just inside, arm raised as though frozen in the act of opening it herself. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Hermione, red-faced and backed by the dark, imposing figure of the potions master.

"Prof - Professor, I, Hermione wasn't here when we got back and..."

Ginny trailed off as Hermione pushed past her into the crowded common room. Gryffindors all about were frozen in the middle of whatever they had been doing, eyes riveted on the entrance.

Hermione didn't turn around when she heard his deep drawl.

"I trust we will not need to have this conversation again."

The portrait swung closed.

Hermione dropped into an overstuffed chair by the fireplace. Conversations started up again around the common room. The atmosphere gradually returned to normal. Ginny slowly made her way over from the entrance and looked at Hermione, eyes still wide in bewilderment.

"You really know how to make an entrance, don't you?"

...

Night filled the room, pressing itself into every corner and enveloping it's sleeping visitors like a worried mother. Hermione lay in her bed, listening to the deep breaths of her roommates.

Her encounter with Snape occupied her thoughts. His treatment of her was humiliating, but she knew that her snapped response and the lingering bitterness was an overreaction. There was no need to waste any more of her energy dwelling on it. Seeking a distraction, she pressed her eyes shut and exhaled deeply, slipping her hand beneath her pillow to find the small object stashed there.

Her fingers brushed against the cool, smooth surface, tracing the contours of the glass and metal. Having a time-turner again was both frightening and exhilarating. It was not in her nature to turn down an opportunity like this, and she was determined to take full advantage. Even as the weight of the added responsibility pressed upon her, the freedom offered in it's inherent possibilities had her blood pumping faster.

She knew that she would accept the time-turner, but to what end? A career in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would not require any more education than she was already receiving, but she felt an insatiable desire to learn more. What future could she choose that could possibly implement the kind of knowledge and skills that she was determined to obtain? The answer remained a mystery.

She felt herself begin to drift, one hand still settled on the time turner concealed beneath her pillow. The tiny object glinted in her minds eye, shining as it turned, multiplying until her imagination was filled with countless golden spheres. They spun lazily, gathering and melting together into a single, uniform shape.

A tiny, delicate egg lay in solitary, the air around it glowing in anticipation. She heard the tiniest hint of a crack, and saw a thin, dark line arc across the fragile surface. Another crack appeared, and the shell began to fall away. A tiny, naked humming bird made it's awkward way out of the egg, already gaining size and new feathers. It threw itself into the air, stumblingly at first but gaining speed, a single desperate dash for freedom. Just as it reached the edge of it's confinement, it began to change again. It's previously mature form began to shrink, it's feathers retracting back into it's body, and gravity slowly pulled it back to it's origin. As it finally touched back to the ground, naked and blind, a thin, white substance rose around it, surrounding it until it was once more encased within it's delicate shell. No more than an egg.

_Not a dream, _a thought rose in her unbidden. _A memory._

She had wanted to solve the mystery of her future. Understanding dawned on her like the first tentative touch of day.

It was not a matter of mystery, but of _Mysteries._

**(A/N: I know, I know. We need more Snape. I promise we will get some more of him in the next chapter. In the meantime, please leave your comments and reviews. This is my first fanfic, so all feedback is immensely helpful. I would also like to be informed of any typos or grammatical errors that may have slipped through.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"You want to work in the Department of Mysteries?" McGonagall asked skeptically, peering over her square glasses. Hermione nodded, a small smile making it's way onto her face.

"It's certainly an admirable aspiration; heaven knows they are responsible for a great deal of our magical advancement. But they do have a reputation for being..." she hesitated, "rather _dark._ Are you certain this is what you want?"

Hermione thought back on her experiences during their fifth year in the Department of Mysteries; the hummingbird, the pool of brains, the stone archway where they had lost Sirius Black forever... Yes, it was certainly dark. But it was _limitless_, and she humored herself that perhaps what the department needed was someone with a firm moral center. The ministry was known to occasionally blur the line between right and wrong.

She nodded resolutely.

"Yes, I am certain."

"In that case, you will need to sign up for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Advanced Transfiguration and Advanced Potion Making. Would you like to drop any of your current classes to make room?"

"No," Hermione responded, "I still want to go into Control of Magical Creatures, at least at first. It will be easier to make my way into Mysteries if I am already a part of the system, and I know that I can do some good there."

McGonagall nodded, unsurprised.

"A sound plan, dear. I need you to have these forms signed by the teachers you will be working with," she pulled three sheets of parchment from her desk and filled Hermione's name into the appropriate lines, then signed her own signature onto the bottom of one with a modest flourish, "and get them back to me as quickly as possible. Your new class schedule should be ready by then."

Hermione took the other two pages, noting the spaces that awaited the signatures of Kinsor Wimberley, the new DADA professor and, of course, Professor Snape.

She sighed resignedly. She had known right off that she would need to speak with Snape. Their unpleasant conversation the night before would likely make it more difficult to convince him, especially as she was planning on asking far more than just a last minute sign up for Advanced Potions.

"If that is all you need, Miss Granger, you may return to your classes. Do not forget those signatures."

Hermione returned McGonagall's smile and hurried out the door.

...

"Professor Wimberley!"

Hermione put on a burst of speed, dodging between two meandering students, before skidding to a halt in front of the short, balding professor. He paused in the doorway of the DADA classroom and blinked up at her in surprise through his small, round spectacles.

"Miss Granger, what a very pleasant surprise. How can I be of assistance my dear?"

She returned his smile, holding out the sheet of parchment. He took it and squinted.

"Ah, a class entry form? I take it you intend to join my class this year."

He pulled a self-inking quill from his sleeve and pressed the parchment against the door, signing the page in a tiny, nearly illegible writing.

"Yes, I hope it's not too much trouble. I'm sorry to be so late," Hermione responded, grinning as he returned the signed sheet back to her.

"On the contrary, Miss Granger. I am quite excited to have a bright student such as yourself joining my class."

He gave her another comforting, grandfatherly smile.

"Seventh year Gryffindors are expected in my classroom at the next bell; don't be late."

With a wink, he shuffled into the classroom, and the door closed behind him. Hermione stuffed the signed form into her bag and turned down the hallway. Only one more signature to go, and it would not be as easy as this one had been.

Walking briskly, she mentally prepared the arguments she would put to Professor Snape. Although she was aware that very few students this year were signed up for Advanced Potion Making, it was not too much of a stretch to believe that he would refuse to sign the form out of pure dislike for her. She would have to be very straightforward and convincing. If she could present her case in an adult-like manner, perhaps he would respond in kind.

Entrenched in her thoughts, she didn't notice the absence of students on the stairs leading to the dungeon. When she approached the classroom, she let out a disappointed groan. The room was filled with first year students, and Snape was already beginning his lecture. She was clearly too late to speak to him, and now she would have to wait until this class was over, which would make her late for her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Unless...

She subconsciously lifted her hand to the small lump beneath her robes, pressing the cool metal and glass against her chest.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making."

Snape's deep voice carried into the hallway. He barely spoke above a whisper, but each student in the room held himself in perfect silence, rapt with attention.

"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..."

Hermione retreated into the hall. She could remember the rest of the speech well enough from her first year. He claimed he could teach them to bottle fame, brew glory and even stopper death. Knowing what she now did about him, she did not doubt it.

She ducked behind a convenient suit of armor, confident that no one would be likely to see her. Tugging on the long, fine gold chain around her neck, she removed the time turner from her robes. She took a long, steadying breath, and then another, preparing herself for something she had assumed she would never again experience.

After one final deep breath, she resolutely lifted her hand to the time turner, and turned it back one full rotation. The dark hallway abruptly yanked away; she could feel herself being dragged backward. Shapes and colors flew past her haphazardly, and her ears pounded. Just as she felt a scream building in her chest, her feet caught solid ground.

She put out her hand to steady herself against the suit of armor. Apparently, it was going to take a few tries before she got used to that again. Still slightly dizzy, she stepped away from the suit, headed for the potions classroom.

"And what, pray tell, is your reason for creeping about in my dungeons during the lunch hour, Miss Granger?"

Hermione spun around to face the looming figure behind her. Every word of her carefully planned arguments flew out of her head. He raised an eyebrow expectantly as she sputtered.

"I... I need you to sign... er..."

She fumbled the parchment out of her bag, and he snatched it out of her hand impatiently. His dark eyes roamed briefly over the text, then he thrust it back at her.

"No."

Hermione blinked.

"Wha... what?"

Snape was already stepping around her and heading down the hallway. She hurriedly pulled herself together and scurried after him.

"Professor, if you'll just let me explain - I need more potions experience to have a shot at being accepted to the Department of Mysteries and -"

"The Department of Mysteries," he scoffed. He stopped abruptly, and she pulled herself to a halt just short of bumping into him.

"Those fools would jump at the chance to have a feather like you in their cap, but I have no such compulsion. I will not allow my classroom to be sullied by a second-rate student."

Her confusion disintegrated in the wave of anger that flushed through her body. A second-rate student? HER? No teacher in their right mind could ever accuse Hermione Granger of being a second-rate student!

"Professor, if there is any student here who has something to offer to your class, it's me! I have _earned_ this!"

"You have earned this? You think that your previous mediocrity in my classroom has won you the right to make demands? Name one thing that you have to offer, Miss Granger, that I could not get more painlessly from a textbook."

Her anger weakened for a moment. He stepped toward her, looming imposingly, and his voice lowered.

"You think that you can be a potions mistress by merely memorizing and performing every book you come across. An exact recitation and duplication of what you are told is sufficient for you. Allow me to be clear on one point, Miss Granger; It. Is. Not. Good. Enough. For. Me."

His gaze weighed down on her. He seemed impossibly huge, his words and his towering figure making her feel smaller than ever. She held her tongue, and he turned from her to place his hand on the doorknob of his classroom. He kept his hand on the knob and turned back to her.

"In your years at Hogwarts, you have not once shown a natural talent in the art of potion making. Until you have proven otherwise, my answer is an irrevocable _No_."

He swung the door open, swept through it and slammed it shut behind him.

Hermione stood in the hallway. A handful of first years were making their way down the stairs and were beginning to gather in the hall, no doubt wondering why the entrance to their class was closed. Hermione realized her hands were trembling.

She turned toward the stairway and began making her way up the steps. She had to move quickly so she could be clear of the area before the past/present Hermione arrived. Her vision blurred slightly. Her eyes were still stinging from the unshed tears and the humiliation. The one thing that she had been counting on this year was her well known ability as a student. And now, in the space of a single conversation, Snape had torn that away.

The worst part of it all, worse even than the degrading insults, was the fact that he was completely right. Hermione could practically recite every potions textbook she had read, and there had been many of them, but when it came to expanding on that knowledge, improvising or making improvements, she was utterly useless. She was forced to admit that there was more to potions than what she could find in books. There was something instinctual about it, something deeper, and whatever it was, she didn't have it.

_In your years at Hogwarts, you have not once shown a natural talent in the art of potion making._

Her eyes burned again, and she tried to discreetly wipe the moisture out of them so she could see where she was going. A young Hufflepuff caught her eye by accident and quickly looked away, trying to hide his embarrassed curiosity.

_Until you have proven otherwise, my answer is an irrevocable No._

She froze at the top of the stairs, one foot suspended in the air.

_Until you have proven otherwise..._

An idea suddenly struck her with all the force of an angry hippogriff. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. If she remembered correctly, she still had just under an hour before she had to be in DADA. If she was really going to go through with her risky new plan, then she had just enough time to begin preparations if she hurried.

She readjusted her grip on her book bag and took off at a run towards the first-floor girls bathroom.

**(a/n: Sorry it took me so long to get this up here. I'll try to get the next one up faster. As always, this is my first fanfic ever, so comments, reviews and critiques are more than welcome! Go crazy! Thanks for reading!)**


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